Monday, July 22, 2019

Monday, July 22 - Louisbourg


Monday, July 22, 2019 – Louisbourg, Cape Breton

While at the Linwood Campsite (ocean views), Sven installs copper tubing from the fuel tank to the fuel filter, nearly eight feet. Surely this must be the answer. No pin-prick holes to worry about in a new line.

Our next door neighbours are a couple from just outside Port Hawkesbury. He’s a mechanic. Mostly diesels these days but lots of cars in his time. We go over the history of the stalling Ceilidh. He agrees with our analysis. Only thing left is vapor lock. Shield the gas lines from the exhaust. Keep the gas cool. In the morning he gives us his phone number and says to call if we get ourselves in trouble. He’s known all over the island. Wonderful folks.

Mostly I wonder how we’ve made it this far. The Ceilidh – sigh -she doesn’t want to perform at her natural born level. We start fine. Get across the Canso Causeway and up a wee hill into the gift shop and information centre for Cape Breton. I feel like celebrating!
A couple hours into the run we have the signature hesitation. Now to be fair, she doesn’t completely stall on us. That is a bonus. Don’t have to pull off the highway. But still. All that remains is vapor lock, a condition where the gasoline in the lines gets too hot and turns into vapor. It happens when fuel is too close to a hot engine. Check. So, we’ll now try to isolate the fuel lines and filter from an engine that definitely throws out heat.

The run up the island takes us through beautiful country. Lakes and inlets swaddled by mixed forests and fields. The stone here is black. On the Cabot Trail it is red. Over some hills to our left is a giant body of water known as the Bras d’Or. It cuts the island in half, but we’re travelling the backroads of the coast. Our lakes are smaller. The roads can be unbelievably broken. Winter frost heaves mangle the tarmac leaving it looking like a really bad case of the mumps. We bounce and lurch our way northeastward through hamlets and villages drawing their names from the Acadian French; L’Ardoise, Fourchu, Michaud, L’Archeveque, Saint Esprit, and Framboise. Many of the rivers,roads, lakes, bays and coves seem to have fallen from the Highlands of Scotland. Rockdale, MacDonald Road, Saint Andrews Channel, and Inverness. It’s a fascinating juxtaposition of names reminding me of the traditional alliance against the English.
Alongside the Road. Many, Many Lakes. (Sven Photo)

We travel down a pock-marked road, purportedly paved, and come to a tee intersection. The crossroad is gravel. To the right, dead end. To the left, no indication of town or road number. Consult GPS on iPhone. No cell coverage. No phone coverage. Consult map. Seems we’re to take the road. No problem, I grew up driving on gravel roads. Off we go at a sedate pace appropriate to the conditions. A woman in a tiny white Ford is following. A Chev passes us in the opposite direction. Clearly the road if functional. A few kilometers down the road turns to dirt, then a few more it’s back to gravel. I’m dodging washboard, potholes, sharp rocks, there are no round ones here. Around a corner, start down a hill and suddenly a racket like a piece of metal has torn loose and is flapping against a tire. Rapid stop. We get out and I start back up the road looking for some sign. Nothing. I look back at The Ceilidh. Ah. Blown tire, front driver’s side. Now this is the easy stuff. Fifteen minutes later the spare is mounted, and we’re back on our way.

A Secondary Road on our Way to Louisbourg 
(Sven photo)

I phone ahead to the Riverdale RV Campground and reserve two spots for the night, maybe two. It’s the closest to the fort at Louisbourg. We pull in and set up, snug at 4:30. Spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. We’ve eaten very well on the trip. Always a salad. Often fruit for dessert. It’s an early night for all of us.

Tomorrow we take the fortress!

1 comment: